


Purple Vitaar

by V_mum



Series: Kaayras Adaar [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Advisor, Companions, Gen, Inner Circle - Freeform, My Inquisitor, Prologue, Val Royeaux, future stories will contain some triggers, minor canon deviance, more like, not really - Freeform, story of my personal inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum
Summary: The Herald of Andraste- Kaayras Adaar- was about as far from a Herald as the Chantry would have wanted. A giant, a dark creature, of horns and of company most against them, of a profession most unholy. But for his terrible luck, his horrible appearance, and for all the rumor, his inner circle was close, his knives ready, his dedication unwavering, and his war paint a stunning shade of purple by even Orlesian Nobel standards.





	Purple Vitaar

The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, is a large beast of a man. A Qunari of a man- to the great chargain of many of the religious view of andraste, the maker, and its chantry.

Had this been a story, a tale told before the tearing of the sky in a book, it would have been considered blasphemous. The chantry would have ordered it burned. A man, a Qunari, a person not of faith, betrayer of his own religion (a qunari, and a Tal-Vashoth! Did that make it worse or better for the chantry?), saved by Andraste herself, to save the world and bring about order where they failed. A rebel inquisition, founded by a dead devine’s orders, run by an orlesian game player, a ruthless spy, a radical rogue seeker, and a templar that served in the failure that was kirkwall. 

The story reeks of blasphemy, is so unpredictable even Varric couldn't have crafted it. Utter nonsense. It probably wouldn't have sold a single copy, not until after the chantry started burning it, and rebels clutched into it with claws and outraged shrieks. That's all the inquisition was, after all, a clause of rebels, seeking to do better than divinity. 

The Herald of Andraste- Kaayras Adaar, what a name- was not the kind of man you’d expect hold this sort of title, either. A former mercenary- an independent man of hire, if you can call that a mercenary. A man with no company is barely a mercenary, more like an assassin, more like a bodyguard, more like a smuggler. Whatever the job entitled on that day. More than likely entitled something  _ illegal _ , not the background of a proper prophet.

Nor did he look it. A heavily clad Qunari rogue, with grey horns pointing backward- worn deep inward, points long gone. Maybe sanded down purposely, maybe with age, maybe chipped at and worn away with countless battles. No less- black, damaged horns, on skin as deep and ashen black as a qunari can come, and a vibrantly contrasting red hair- scruffy, under shaven. No time in the field for proper shaves as a mercenary, no time between inquisition missions either. Red long hair- long for a qunari, be it- pinned to the back of the head. No weakness- no free hair to be gripped or grabbed.

Oddest trait of any qunari had to be the eyes. A Vivid, Sharp purple gaze. Piercing and purer in color than any sunrise, then anything found in nature. Among a demon appearance of black and red, of battle scars and horns, of a hulking size and heavy built arms and large hands, the sharpness of the purple was always something that stood out, on first sight. Usually not standing out as much as the glowing green hand, sparks and wisps of the anchor active when the hulking man was angry, or a rift grew near. But when that mark was calm, it was always the eyes that caught the attention of a foreign gaze. 

Maybe that's why Inquisitor Kaayras was known for his Vitaar.

Poisonous warpaint was everywhere among the qunari. Physiological mystery as it was, the toxic substances granting them strength and tough skin. Hotly debated by alchemists looking to make an armour potion, its a magic innate to the qunari- a race oft known for a lack of magical affiliation, thus  _ debated _ \- but also, perhaps it was only a built up endurance. Like a Spy that would take small amounts of poison in training, developing tolerance for many common poisonous substances- perhaps the qunari tolerance for this poisonous war paint came over generations of tolerance practice?

But the Inquisitor was known for using his own Vitaar. Smooth, purple paint he’d make by hand on nights where they camped away on missions with raw gathered material, or bartering with local merchants in the inquisition camp to make it in the comfort of company with friends.

Dragon Blood and Snake Venom, Deep Mushroom, Felicidus Aria, a cacophony of poisonous plants or substance one may expect to find in a Qunari Vitaar recipe. It was always funny, though, for the Inquisitions’ inner circle to observe the expressions of surprise on healers or alchemists watching the Herald make his vitar when he also used Royal Elfroot. An advanced healing herb to be found in something purposely intentioned for a poisonous effect was always curious.

The result, even if made with a variety of components for whatever the Inquisitor used that time, was always the same. A Smooth, liquid creme ground up in a morder or with the Heralds bare, violent hands- one of rare occasions he removed his gloves, and in such a scenario, only near the eyes of the inner circle. Often, the inquisitor would dry the fresh vitaar into a powder to be rehydrated later for application, but he always used at least a little after making a batch.

“Fresh Vitaar has a… quality hard to describe.” He’d said once in a deep, rough voice of a massive qunari male, when Blackwall had questioned why he was bothering to wash away his already-applied paint in a stream, to apply the new material. “Much like… raw mana, rather than an aged lyrium potion, if i could compare it to what Dorian told me once.”

Solas, sitting at the water side not far, reading some ancient tome of a book they'd found in ruins not far from camp, made a low throaty hum of agreement; Kaayras allowed solas to try to describe  _ that _ feeling in place of trying to explain how it felt better the apply fresh poison to the face; the analogy easily made more sense to everyone. Varric, other member of the party at the time, later asked The Iron Bull of fresh Vitaar paint- Bull was inclined to agree. 

Be it when his face was smeared with a rehydrated vitaar in a rush of an unexpected fight, or the intricate war paint patterns of knowing he’d be in a fight soon, or even more detailed, intricate patterns reminiscent of elven vallaslin when he grew bored and had a mirror on hand, or was actively headed to orlesian territory.  The Vitaar was always present- even in common, when no fight would occur any time soon, safe at sky hold, or in a safety of camp, or on diplomacy with allies. At its most simple, The Inquisitor was most often found with a simple smooth shadow of vibrant, eye-matching purple paint around his matching vibrant eyes, and a deeper purple over his darker lips.

A common joke around the inner circle being that if the Herald ever kissed anyone, it would surely be fatal. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the prologue, folks.
> 
> feel free to point out inaccuracies, as the only game ive ever played is DA: Inquisition, and i am not the most versed in all of the history, although im doing my research pointedly and re-playing the game as i go.
> 
> subscribe to the Series, Kaayras Adaar, if your interested in following along. This has been the introduction! The future of it is more than likely to hold a few triggers, and some angst, and some rejection, and some friendship, as well as some contrasting opinions from various audiences (myself, other characters, etc).
> 
> for suggestions, comments, concerns, or ideas, i can be contacted on tumblr at "http://firemama.tumblr.com/"


End file.
